


lukewarm water, hot tea, cool hand

by writerdragonfly



Series: the quiet ones [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Sequel, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdragonfly/pseuds/writerdragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of his decision, Rodney tries to deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lukewarm water, hot tea, cool hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [popkin16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popkin16/gifts).



> I actually meant for this to be like 200 words about Teyla, Ronon, and John being quietly supportive. But they had other ideas. 
> 
> For popkin16, who's a doll and sparked this in a comment on the original fic.

He doesn't really remember leaving the room, let alone the compound. His team takes care of him, flanks around him. John and Teyla lead, a few feet ahead but at his sides. Ronon follows him from behind, a hulking presence at his back.

 

There's blood on his hands, stark red against his pale skin. And there's blood on his face, occasionally dripping down his eyebrow. He tried to wipe it away once, while they walked, but it dripped from his fingers instead.

 

He feels hollowed out, like all his emotions are gone until all he can feel is the physical. His arms ache, his throat feels raw. His head hurts, and he just wants to be home. He wants to be back in Atlantis, standing under the hot press of water in his shower, just... Just getting clean.

 

“Dial the gate!” John shouts to Teyla, and Rodney’s head finally clears enough to notice where they are.

 

Someone is shooting at them, wild shots from an antiquated style gun but still. There’s a gun in his hands again and he doesn’t remember picking it up.

 

Shooting. They’re being shot at and they haven’t made it home yet, and Rodney just wants to be done. He wants to shut everything off and he can’t do that until they’re _safe_.

 

Rodney shoots, Rodney shoots and he knows he hits someone ( _someone)_ from the scream.

 

“McKay! _McKay!_ **_Rodney_** _!”_ John yanks him by the vest, pulling him toward the Stargate and away from the bodies.

 

-x-

 

His legs go out from under him as soon as the gate disengages, and Teyla catches him with an arm under his and wrapped around his back.

 

“ _Medical emergency to the Gateroom_ ,” he faintly hears the gate tech saying, and then nothing.

 

-x-

 

Rodney wakes up in his quarters, wrapped in warmth. He’s laying in Teyla’s lap, the woman gently combing her fingers through his hair. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

 

“You awake?” John asks, and Rodney lifts his head enough to see him walking in from the direction of Rodney’s bathroom.

 

“What happened?” he asks, his voice coming out gruffer than he’d intended.

 

John hesitates, “Keller said it was probably shock. You didn’t let it hit you until you felt safe again.”

 

Oh, Rodney thinks, was that all?

 

“You were very brave, Rodney,” Teyla says then, resuming her petting.

 

No, brave would have been killing that man and not going into shock.

 

“That’s not bravery,” Ronon says, dragging Rodney’s attention from John to the spot where the larger man sits against his door, “what you did _is_ brave. You did what you had to do, and you didn’t stop until your job was done.”

 

Rodney hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud.

 

“How long was I out?” Rodney asks, making himself sit up on his own. Teyla pats lightly him lightly on the arm before she stands and walks away.

 

“Three hours,” John answers, talking Teyla’s place on Rodney’s bed.

 

“I carried you down after we broke you out of the infirmary,” Ronon says, a wickedly proud smile on his face.

 

“Carried me--wait, Keller wanted me to stay in--”

 

“You’ll be fine, medically speaking. There wasn’t anything she could do except sedate you,” John admits, and Rodney turns to face him.

 

“They would have killed you. All of you.” Rodney says it suddenly, the words unbidden and unexpected.

 

“... Probably,” John answers, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

“I don’t... I had to do it,” Rodney says, and he means it.

 

He _means it._ He had to, there was nothing else about that.

 

“I never wanted that for you,” John says, unable to look at Rodney.

 

“Because I can’t handle it, obvi--”

 

“No,” John interrupts, his tone a little angry, “because you’re not a killer.”

 

“And it’s easy for you?” Rodney bites back just as angry, even if he’s not sure _why._

 

“No,” Ronon says, suddenly right in front of them, “because it’s _not_.”

 

“Sorry,” Rodney chokes out, lifting his hands to wipe unnecessarily at his face.

 

Except his hands are still... _stained_. Someone, Keller probably, had obviously cleaned them, but there’s still the lingering color of red on his fingers, stuck in his cuticles and under his nails.

 

A dead man’s blood, a man Rodney _killed_.

 

“Hey, buddy, look at me,” John’s voice is soft, and Rodney’s suddenly aware of how cold John’s hands are against his face.

 

“What, never seen anyone freak out before?” Rodney says, aware that it sounds (and _is_ ) self-deprecating.

 

“C’mon,” Ronon says, pulling Rodney’s arm before John can even move his hands away.

 

“Where are we going? Are you going to have Keller sedate me?”

 

“No,” Ronon says, pushing him in the direction of the bathroom and otherwise keeping silent.

 

“What, I don’t need help going to the bathroom--”

 

“You were staring at your hands,” Ronon finally says, pushing him in front of the sink, “thinking about the blood, right?”

 

Rodney doesn’t respond. Ronon doesn’t seem to care.

 

“Even when they’re totally clean, it’s like you can still see it,” Ronon says, turning the tap on.

 

The water isn’t cold but it’s not hot either. More lukewarm than Rodney usually even _showers_.

 

“Isn’t hotter supposed to be better for this kind of thing,” Rodney asks, having to stop and swallow before he finishes, “Cleaning off blood?”

 

“Too hot and you’ll burn yourself. You won’t even care how much it hurts until later, because all you want to do is get it off.”

 

Rodney meets Ronon’s eyes in the bathroom mirror, suddenly filled with an understanding he hadn’t expected.

 

Ronon continues talking to him as Rodney scrubs his hands up to his elbows, his voice low and soft but somehow not a disconnect from the big, bulky presence of him.

 

“Tilt your head back a little,” Ronon says a few minutes later, holding a damp washcloth in his hand. Rodney does it, closes his eyes as Ronon gently scrubs his face.

 

He’d forgotten about the blood on his face.

 

By the time Ronon’s finished, Rodney feels exhausted, as if he could sleep a hundred years. Or perhaps forever, endlessly.

 

“How old were you?” Rodney asks, ignoring the way his voice cracks a little at the question as he settles back down on the edge of his bed.

 

“Sixteen,” Ronon answers, plopping back down in front of his door, as if protecting him from everything on the other side.

 

And maybe he is.

 

“Eleven,” Teyla says, and she’s pressing a warm cup into his hands, “drink this. It will help.”

 

“Eleven?” Rodney asks, surprised and more than a little afraid for her.

 

“There was a man, during a harvest gathering. He wanted me to come with him and I did not want to leave, and it was an accident. Afterward, I cried for many weeks. And then I started training with my bantos rods, so I would never be that vulnerable again.” Teyla says, and she does not let her eyes move from his the entire time.

 

John clears his throat, obviously unsure of what to say. Rodney has no idea what to say.

 

“I was twenty,” John finally says, “and I still remember him.”

 

“I do not believe that it is something you... forget,” Teyla says, sitting on the floor, resting her arms on her knees.

 

Rodney takes a sip of Teyla’s drink, the hot tea feeling surprisingly good down his throat.

 

They are silent for a long time, and his tea is half gone before he finally speaks again.

 

“I don’t regret doing it,” Rodney admits, “I would do it again.”

 

“Rodney--”

 

“No, you don’t understand. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. I had to do it and I don’t regret it.”

 

No one speaks, and Rodney doesn’t blame them.

 

“Someone else... Someone else I loved once, died because I didn’t do what I should have... I wasn’t letting it happen again.”

 

“Oh, Rodney, we love you as well,” Teyla says, lurching up from her spot and enveloping him in a hug.

 

“You’re team,” Ronon says, “Family.”

 

John doesn’t say anything, and the room goes silent again.

  
Rodney finishes his tea, letting Teyla take the mug as he settles down into his blankets again.

 

“We will let you sleep,” Teyla says, “but we will only be a call away.”

 

Ronon follows her out with a nod. John makes to go too, still silent, but Rodney grabs his hand before he can move away from the bed.

 

“Stay,” Rodney whispers, unable to look at him, “please.”

 

“Always,” John says, and Rodney opens his eyes to see a look in John’s eyes that he’s seen a million times before but never been able to understand.

 

Rodney says, _I love you_ with a knife and _stay_.

 

John says it with his actions every time they’re together, the way he looks at him when they're alone, and an _always_.

 

“I love you most,” Rodney murmurs as he falls asleep, John’s cool hand in his.

 

-x-

 

In the morning, after coffee but before the briefing, Rodney presses a soft kiss to John's mouth, and smiles when John kisses back.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a professional therapist or psychologist or anything of the like, but I do imagine that Rodney goes and sees one on a regular basis after this, and talks to his team as well.
> 
> Also, all I wanted to do was write John and Rodney hugging but that didn't even happen here. <3


End file.
